The Therapist: Episode 8: The Therapist, #8

By J.A. Belfield

From International Bestselling author J.A. Belfield comes an intriguing and sensual romance serial ...

Episode Eight: When Abi O'Shay doesn't show for her appointment, Chase wonders how much deeper into the bowels of frustration his life can devolve—until a surprise visitor brings news, and enough lust to keep a days-long inferno of pent-up desires burning.

After a week filled with pure bliss and a hope Chase hadn't dared entertain, he finally begins to believe the ever elusive happy outcome just might be within his reach, after all.

Series Synopsis:

Chase Walker: Founder of C.W. Consult. Sex therapist extraordinaire.
And, without question, always in control.

After years of schooling his emotions, Chase takes pride in his self-composure and firm lack of commitment. It takes only one, fresh-faced redhead in need of his services for all of that to fall to pieces.

Abigail O'Shay is everything Chase isn't. Sweet. Innocent. Pure.

Chase has never wanted anything more.

Except, if that whole therapist-client barrier isn't enough of an issue, Chase's own demons are only too happy to bury the fantasies he entertains for his latest client.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.A. Belfield
• Release date: May 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201025427

J.A. Belfield

Best known for her Holloway Pack Stories and The Therapist, J.A. Belfield lives in Solihull, England, with her family, a spoiled dog, and a cat who likes to vomit in unfortunate places. Once upon a time, she was a little girl with a vivid imagination. Not much has changed in the last forty years. J.A. Belfield writes paranormal romance, with a second love for urban fantasy. And now she writes saucy romance, too. Because she can. ;)

Book preview

THE THERAPIST

THE THERAPIST

EPISODE 8

J.A. Belfield

BOOKS BY J.A. BELFIELD

CALLED

LURED

CAGED

UNNATURAL

CORNERED

HOLLOWAY PACK BOX SET

THE HOLLOWAY PACK MINI COLLECTION

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THE THERAPIST

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A BEAST OF A WEEK

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HER MANE ESCORT

THE THERAPIST

EPISODE 8

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Published by J.A. Belfield

www.jabelfield.com

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Copyright © 2021 Julie Anne Belfield

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, locations, or any other element is entirely coincidental.

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First Published: 2017

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THE THERAPIST

EPISODE 8

J.A. BELFIELD

Contents

BOOKS BY J.A. BELFIELD

COPYRIGHT

THE THERAPIST

DEDICATION

EPISODE 8

ABOUT J.A. BELFIELD

READ MORE BY J.A. BELFIELD

To those who tell me yay when my head’s telling me nay …

You’re top of that list, Sweet Cheeks.

EPISODE 8

Chase Walker showed the clients to his office door. Carl Winters and his live-in partner Janie Say.

They’d come seeking advice on how to spice up ‘their bedroom time’. Chase had told them that referring to it as that was their first mistake—because believing it needed to be restricted to just one room of the house placed limitations on them, and what they could do, before they’d even begun.

It felt refreshing to him, to have a couple show up who seemed on equal footing in the decision to come see him. It felt refreshing to have a couple be openly honest about what they already had, what they felt their relationship lacked, and what they needed from him as a therapist.

Well, thanks again, Ms Say said, as Chase opened the door to Reception.

You’re welcome. He took Mr Winters’ hand as he held it out, giving a brief shake before waving them toward the curved desk, behind which sat his two partners in crime. Raelyn and Samantha will get you booked in for your next session.

And in the meantime, we’ll do our homework, Ms Say said, barely containing her cheeky-looking grin.

Homework that boiled down to them not waiting until they got to the bedroom, like they usually did. Not waiting until bedtime. But jumping into action at random times of the day, in any room of the house—because a platform for intercourse didn’t need to be restricted to a damned bed.

That’s the idea. Smiling, Chase nodded toward Rae, her smoky-rimmed eyes meeting his for a second.

She’d been catching his eye for most of the day. Scrap that—she’d been catching his eye for the entire week. Chase knew why, he’d just been ignoring it. Badly. Unsuccessfully. Because what he’d been trying to ignore was too big. Bigger than him. Bigger than anything.

Abi O’Shay. What they’d done together the week before. The fact she’d be returning to his office in too short, too long a space of time. And what they weren’t going to be doing once she got there.

As Rae released her visual hold on him and shot her impressive smile at the clients, Chase turned away, closed his door, and took a moment for himself.

Breathing in deep should’ve helped calm the emotions roiling through him. Sadness mixed with anticipation. Desperation toying over the edges of disappointment—a disappointment he felt at himself for having allowed his feelings for the woman get as far as they had. And bitterness. A deep bitterness at knowing she’d leave him—his practice—and walk straight into the arms of another, manned with skills Chase had taught her.

He hated that.

He didn’t want to—any other client and he’d have patted himself on the back for a job well done, maybe have a sneaky brew with Rae and Sam to celebrate at end of day—but he did hate it. And there didn’t seem to be a damned thing he could do to change that.

With a bottled water grabbed from his desk drawer, he crossed to the window, hoping the view would help drain some of the tightness from his shoulders. The Thames seemed pretty quiet below, though the rain could well have created the lull in water traffic. The fair weather boaters always seemed to outweigh those willing to brave the elements.

He drew in a long breath, downed a gulp of water, exhaled. He should’ve been writing up notes for the clients who’d just left. Despite the success of the appointment, his brain butted walls over the idea of completing paperwork, and his body seemed at odds with the idea of sitting still, even for a few minutes. Like a low wattage hummed beneath the surface of his skin, his body felt alive—which was fucking ridiculous when he’d not be stepping outside of his main office for Abi’s appointment, neither of them would be removing any clothes, all they’d be doing was talking.

The only upsides to the appointment: He couldn’t land himself in any shit piles by just talking, and his office didn’t have cameras installed for Rae and Sam to be spying on him ….

The two positives seemed so fucking far apart in relativity, Chase couldn’t help but breathe out a quiet laugh at the irony of it all. The one time he’d have a free, uninterrupted chance to do whatever he wanted with Abi, and he couldn’t.

Though, why couldn’t he?

Spinning away from the window, he turned back toward the room. The chaise, placed at an angle toward his desk, easily sat two people of decent size and weight, and his mind instantly conjured the image of Abi sprawled back against the fabric, her hair splayed across the single armrest, her fingers gripping his hair as she guided his face toward her cunt.

He had to shake his head to clear the image. What the fuck was he doing? When Abi arrived, the plan was to sever his connection to her—whatever that connection was—not remind himself of how she’d tasted the week before. How she’d responded when he’d tasted her. How wet she’d been—how wet he’d ended up as she’d sprayed her excitement all the hell over him.

Fuck his stupid cock for getting hard at the memory.

And fuck his brain for conjuring it.

Maybe he should’ve been writing up notes, after all, instead of mooning over a bloody client.

Ordering his body back to his desk, he sank his arse down into his chair and opened the newly-printed casefile still sitting in place. As he scanned over the intro notes Sam had already typed into their file, he swapped his water bottle for a pen and forced the thoughts in his head out of the way.

Ten minutes later, he’d jotted a grand total of twenty-four words. Ten minutes later should’ve been about the time Abi usually showed up for an appointment.

Tapping his pen against his teeth, he glanced toward the intercom. Toward the door. Like they’d magically perk into action by sheer will alone.

Everything in him wanted to leap up and race to the door, swing it open, just to see if she sat there. He wouldn’t put it past Rae to hold Abi until the exact moment her appointment began, if only to limit the amount of time